Re(Writing) History
by rhyejess
Summary: Harry frets over Sirius's posthumous reputation. Then, James Sirius meets the portrait of Sirius Black.


He could almost almost hear them on the drifting wind through the memorial: the names of those who had died in what was now known as "Voldemort's War". Death Eaters were not included of course. This was, in principle, good. It meant that Bellatrix and the Carrows didn't mar the monument to the lives of such as Colin Creevey and Fred Weasley. Lupin and Tonks were there, and Dumbledore stood as a status in the middle of the stone circle. Harry was aware, like a toothache, of the one person not included. While the Weasleys admired Fred's plaque with tears and laughter (it was pretty funny- if you pressed the plaque a shower of tiny red lights rose from the ground and coalesced to make a funny face at you) Harry noticed the one name not here. Even Snape had a plaque- he had been cleared of wrongdoing thanks to the memories in his Pensieve.

Sirius Black, though, did not have a plaque. After all, he was a known Death Eater. He had escaped Azkaban and terrorized the country. Even Snape, a suspected Death Eater, had never been officially convicted and had never loomed over Britain like a shadow of threats. The idea that Black could be innocent was much too far-fetched. Harry had tried, and Kingsley had helped him, but not even the Boy Who Lived had the power to rewrite the Truth of history.

That's how it was now. Harry had seen the textbooks himself, the new editions with the story of the first and second Wizarding wars and the box to the side with a menacing account of the crimes of Sirius Black. In Harry's view, Sirius had committed only one crime- dying when he should have known better. He should have known that Harry needed him, he should have stayed safe so that Harry wouldn't have to be alone any more.

Not that Harry was alone. The Weasleys and Hermione were like a family to him. Soon they actually _would_ be his family when he married Ginny. Sirius, though, had been a daily reminder that his father and mother had loved him. To a boy fighting a war alone...

But that was in the past. The problem was here and now. Harry imagined a plaque for Sirius, tried to imagine what might happen if you pressed it, and failed. He could only summon sadness from Sirius, starving and eating rats in a cave, fading away within his childhood house, dying, and his haunted face screaming at Harry from the pages of a textbook that his children would read.

No, Harry decided, it wasn't going to be that way. That night he approached Hermione for the first time about rewriting history. She was the perfect person to write their history of the war, and with Harry's name on the cover, doubtless it would be read. She agreed, and thus _Harry, a History_ was born. Sirius never would be added to the Voldemort's War Monument. But he would get his own in a way. In 2003, Minerva McGongall took down the portrait of the Fat Lady, moving her to the Hufflepuff entrance where she could be closer to her beloved kitchens. In front of the Gryffindor common room she hung a seven-foot-tall portrait of Sirius Black. From thence on every Gryffindor passing through Hogwarts would know Sirius, and Harry could not be happier.

***

James was trying not to cry, his back ram-rod straight as he approached the entrance to his new home. He knew he should be happy to be in Gryffindor, but there was never any real doubt that he would end up here, where is parents and grandparents had been. The hard part was leaving his parents behind. It was his first night away from home and he'd already been name-called. Having a famous dad is hard when you're eleven. He had known it would be, but knowing people might make fun of you and standing in the Great Hall being mocked are two different things. Still, he was determined he would not cry. He had not made friends yet, but Professor Longbottom, his Head of House, had said that they would come.

Approaching the Portrait that guarded the Common Room, he realized he had entirely forgotten the password in his concern. It was the last straw and tears spilled over onto his cheeks.

"Hey now," the portrait said, "None of that."

"Sorry," James sniffled. He knew Sirius from his father's story and from his own middle name of course, but this was just a portrait, it wasn't really Sirius Black he reminded himself.

"You new here?"

"Yeah."

"Name?"

"Potter. James."

The portrait eyed him for a long moment and then swung open, not even asking about the password.

"Thanks," James murmured. He was about to step through when the portrait stopped him.

"Hey," the painting said quietly. "I know I'm not... real, but if you ever want to talk to someone... some_thing_ I suppose... you know. If you want to talk you can come here."

"Thanks."

"I mean it. I doubt my advice is all that great but I can try."

James shook his head. "My dad said your advice was _always_ great."

"He's lying," Sirius answered with a smile, "but it's nice of him to say. Once I tried to get him to leave the safety of the castle and I called him a coward when he wouldn't."

James smiled. If he were honest, knowing that Sirius's advice wasn't always to his father's liking made him far more eager to listen to it. "I'll be back," he promised as he stepped through the door.

Only then did he realize he didn't feel homesick any more. He felt good. He felt _excited_. This year was going to be totally awesome.


End file.
